


Joining the Family

by DraniKitty



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraniKitty/pseuds/DraniKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had a promising career with the police - He could have been a private eye. Instead, he's been sucked into a world of guns, gangs, and crime.</p><p>(The parties behind my getting inspired enough to writ this know who they are)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Between a grave and a mob boss

**Author's Note:**

> This started with some random fanart in a livestream... My mind ran away. You may or may not find pairings in here, IDK yet (Will update if/when it happens)

_Shff... Shff..._  
  
"Look, it's nothing personal... Just business and all that... You know how it is, right... Ross, was it? Good name..."  
  
_Shff... Shff..._  
  
How had he ended up like this? Feet bound together, hands tied behind his back... His tie acting as a gag... And a few feet away, two men digging a hole that would soon be his grave. He felt like he could well and genuinely cry. He heard the click of a lighter, opening his eyes long enough to look up at the tall man in the pinstripe suit, lighting a cigarette.  
  
He put the lighter away, then crouched down next to the bound and gagged man. "You had such a promising CAREER, too... Good schooling, fast track toward being a private eye..." He took a drag, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. "But a pain in my side, too. Gotta nip that in the bud, amiright?" There was a pause, before he stood and looked at the two men digging. "Hey, I'm talkin' here! Trott, Smiffy, am I right, or am I right?"  
  
The taller of the two, a redhead, stopped digging, stabbing the damp earth with his shovel before looking at his boss. "Right you are, Sips!" He looked down, examining the hole they'd dug. It was a good hole, deep enough to hide a body in. He stretched, popping his back. "Shame, though..." The curious look from his boss and his digging companion made him elaborate. "He knows the law inside and out, right?" He spun his finger in a circle, as if that'd help elaborate. "He knows how to get out of trouble, what to do to avoid it..." Smiffy propped his right elbow on the shovel. "And he ain't in any position to be arguin' against, say... Joinin' us or nothin', is he?"  
  
On the ground, Ross would have gaped at the redhead if he really could. Was he suggesting-- He was! He recovered and shot a glare at the redhead, starting to struggle anew against his bindings. They didn't give, and it only sharpened the pain in his wrists from struggling before. He was sure the skin was raw, maybe even bleeding, by now. He stopped when he heard a laugh, looking back at the digging pair's boss.  
  
"Smiffy, you're a fucking genius sometimes!" He crouched down again, offering Ross an easy smile. "So, here's the deal." He pointed at the bound man. "You know the law, in and out, up and down, like Smiffy said. We could really use that, and it'd be SUCH a waste of talent if we killed you now. You don't wanna DIE, do you, Ross?" When the man on the ground shook his head violently, Sips grinned. "That's what I thought. You be our little law buddy, become one of the family... And you live. Loyal to me, loyal to Trott, loyal to Smiffy... We look out for each other, family and all that."  
  
He took another drag, blowing out a smoke ring. On the ground, Ross was genuinely impressed by it. Sips then pointed at the unmarked grave. "Or, yano... You turn into worm food. Your choice." He stood up, then walked over to the dynamic duo. "Trott, wadda ya say? Wanna turn the dynamic duo into the Three Muskateers?"  
  
The shortest of the men leaned on his shovel, arms crossed and chin resting on his hands. Slowly, a grin spread on his face. "I wouldn't mind a pet lawyer..." His eyes flicked to the man on the ground. "And you can have somebody else running errands with Smith besides me." He liked Smith and all, but sometimes... Trott just didn't want to go on an errand. "And who knows, maybe he's good with numbers, too!"  
  
Ross nodded enthusiastically. Probably too enthusiastically, in his own opinion... But he was also intent on NOT being dead. He didn't care anymore. At this point, he'd suck the devil's dick if it meant he didn't have to die. Which all told, would probably be a fair bargain for his life.  
  
Unless said dick was poisoned and he'd die anyway...  
  
Sips walked over, flicking the butt of his cigarette off into the night, and crouched down beside Ross yet again "So, Ross... What'll be? Your grave, or us?" He reached up and undid the tie, removing it so the man could talk.  
  
"I'll do it!" His voice cracked as he spoke, throat dry from lack of water and sore from the first hour of yelling in the trunk. "I'll do whatever you say!" He choked, cringing at himself. "I'll join you... Just... I don't want to die..."  
  
His new boss had the biggest shit-eating grin. "Welcome to the family, Ross." He stood up and stretched. "Trott, untie him. Smiffy, fill that thing in." As he walked away, back to the car, he pointed over his shoulder. "And don't think I don't know you're making that face, Smiffy."  
  
While the redhead let out a huff and began filling the hole in, and the shorter of the men began untying his bonds, Ross wondered... What was he getting himself into?


	2. Long road to perdition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have one more already typed... I just kinda zonked last night

The car grumbled as it traveled down the road. Trees flew by in the darkness, lit only by the headlights. Ross barely paid them any mind, temple pressed to the cold glass of the back passenger-side window. To his right, by the other door, sat Sips, relaxed as he ever appeared. When he thought on it, Ross wondered... Did Sips ever raise his voice? REALLY raise it... All the yelling had been done by the redhead driving the car, or the short man sitting in the front passenger seat. Where would he fit into this crazy mess?

There was talking, but he was paying it no attention. Or as little as he could. Sips was talking to Trott, something about profits and shares and... He zoned out, staring out the window as another car drove by in the opposite direction.

He had to wonder... Why was he with these people? Why did he agree so readily? A bump in the road and the clatter of the shovels in the trunk reminded him. Right... It was this, or die a slow and painful death inhaling mud and worms through his nose. Not the most pleasant of ways to go...

Ross jerked as he felt a tap on his shoulder and looked over, finding Sips staring at him. "I'm sorry, what was the question...?"

"I said, are you hungry? Because I could go for a cheeseburger right now, and there's this great place on the way into town..." He sat back, draping his left arm over the back of the seat. "Open all night for the late-night travlers... Such as ourselves. Right, boys?" In the front seat, Smith and Trott agreed. "They know what's up. I like that."

He blinked slowly, licking his lips. His stomach rumbled, prompting Sips to laugh. For a guy who looked a bit gray, it was rather hearty, if having a bit of reediness to it. It proved infectious, as Smith started laughing in the front seat.

"I think there's your answer, Sips!"

In the back seat, Ross looked back out the window, face flushing. Beside him, Sips wiped a tear away. "To the all-night diner, Smiffy! And for the love of God, don't order the whole menu..."

Smith scoffed in the front seat. "I don't order the WHOLE menu! Just a few things..."

"You order damn NEAR the whole menu, mate..."

"Shut up, Trott."

In the back seat, staring out the window, Ross wondered... Why did he get into a situation where he wound up with these people?


	3. Diners, dives, and truck stops

The diner's neon sign glowed almost too cheerily in the night, bright blue letters declaring the name and inviting the wary traveler in for a midnight meal. Most patrons this late at night were truck drivers, on their way into the city to deliver goods, while others were those on a road trip passing Mistral by.

Smells of various foods filled the room, warm and rich and more inviting than the lights, and far more inviting than the tired faces of the wait staff. Before Ross sat a cheeseburger with french fries, nigh identical to the one Sips ate across from him. Trott had fish and chips, while Smith had...

How was he eating that much? Was this part of why he wasn't touching his food? No... His stomach was in knots, thinking about the life choices he'd made.

"You gonna eat that or what? Because you were hungry ten minutes ago... We all heard it." Sips paused, eating a fry, then pointed. "You better hurry or Smiffy'll eat it."

Ross shot a glance at the ginger, eyes narrowing. He wasn't about to share his food... He finally picked up the burger and started eating it, only to have to slide his plate away and guard his fries from Smith. Swallowing, he pointed at the ginger. "Keep off my food."

"Aw, but they look so good!"

"Smith, keep off the man's fries."

"Shut up, Trott, nobody asked you."

The shorter of the men leveled a loot at Smith, pointing a french fry at him. "I AM technically between you and him, so yes, I was asked based on my proximity."

Watching Trott eat his fries, Smith let out a small whine, then looked to his left. "Then I want desert."

"Fuck no. You'll get fat."

As Smith glared at Sips, Trott let out a laugh. "Does he even GAIN weight?"

Sips shrugged impassively, eating the last of his fries. "Dunno."

Ross watched them intently, eating his burger. As he licked the sauce from his fingers... He began to doubt his misgivings about joining this odd... Family. They certainly ACTED like a family... Maybe this wouldn't be SO bad.

He grabbed the fork by his plate and rammed it into the table a breath away from Smith's reaching hand, leveling a dangerous look at the redhead that was trying, again, to steal his fries. The threat was effective as the hand retracted, leaving his fries to be eaten by their owner. As Sips and Trott laughed at Smith's expense, Ross decided... He'd have to set some boundaries with Smith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what Smith was eating.


	4. Home isn't where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross' poor apartment, so insulted.

"God, this place looks like a DUMP."

Ross gave Sips an indignant look. "I've only been in this city for two MONTHS, what do you EXPECT me to have? A full HOUSE?" He tossed his jacket onto the coat rack, going to his kitchen. "I'm lucky I could afford this place..."

Smith looked around, then walked in and, rather unceremoniously, flopped onto the couch, shoes up on the arm. "You dress too nice for THIS place, surely you could get an apartment with an actual BEDROOM."

"Nothing else was available!"

Trott hung back at the door, peeking in. His nose wrinkled. "Glorified hotel room is what it is..."

Holding two beer bottles in each hand, the former cop(What else could he be at this point, he asked himself) pointed at the shortest man in the group. "You don't see me going around insulting YOUR place, do you?"

"You haven't SEEN my place."

From the sofa, Smith grinned. "He's got a king-size bed, pretty red everything... It WAS brown until I told him it looked the color of shit. OW!" He held his arms up, warding off a pillow Trott smacked him with.

Ross could only watch in mixed surprise and horror as his throw pillows were used as weapons. He let out a sigh, then went over and handed a bottle to Sips. "If you two would kindly stop that before I get a fork..."

Smith dropped the pillow he'd been using back in place before quietly rubbing his hand. There was no injury, but the threat remained fresh. Ross walked over and handed a bottle to both the redhead and the shorter man, who'd taken a seat next to the tallest.

Sips took a drink, then pointed at Ross. "You can't be living in a dump like this. You should move in with Smith."

Both Ross and Smith let out a shocked, "WHAT?!"

"Yeah, totally enough room in that place for two of you!" He paused. "Unless you'd rather live with Trottsky here."

The look Trott gave Sips could have curdled and baked milk.

"Okay maybe not Trottsky. But still. Smith's got PLENTY of room!"

"Sips, mate, I live over a GARAGE."

"Yeah, but it's got two bedrooms, and one you."

"And I bring people HOME with me."

Ross looked at Smith, then suddenly made a face. "Please tell me you showered today before the idea of sitting on my couch was even a small idea."

The redhead took a drink of his beer, then grinned at Ross. "Course I took a shower, mate! I save all THAT fun for AFTER work! And technically... I'm still at work." He then wiggled his eyebrows. "Of course, I'm not sure I'll be bringin' anybody home after work at this point 'sides you..."

He got a disgusted look in return, and a swat on the back of the head from Trott. Rubbing his head, he turned and shot a glare at the shorter man. "What was that for?"

"You said it yourself, he knows the law inside and out in a way WE don't but NEED, and if you SCARE HIM OFF NOW, I will PERSONALLY shoot you in the foot."

"Fine, fine..."

Setting his half-empty bottle(He'd drank half of it, so he couldn't argue that it was half full) down for a moment, Ross shot a look at the men on his sofa, then looked at Sips. "Why would you even have me move in with anybody in the first place?"

The boss finished his drink, placing the bottle on the coffee table. "Because none of my boys are living in a shit-hole apartment, that's why. Plus your old bosses will come looking for you... And I don't need that shit, yano? So..." He walked around, standing behind Ross' chair, leaning over and draping his arms around the other man's neck(A bit too comfortably, in Ross' opinion). "You move in with Smith, stay there until you can find a new place of your own... Or you get tired of Smith and go crash with Trott... But in the end, you don't come back here." He looked around the room. "This place is fucking depressing to look at. I don't like it."

Where he was stretched out, Smith lifted his nearly empty bottle. "Give it up, mate, you ain't winnin' this argument. Just pack your clothes up and we can toss 'em in the trunk. You know it'll have the space, we crammed YOU in it!" Even as Ross glared at him, Smith grinned, finishing off his own drink and adding the bottle to the table next to Sips' empty bottle.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand, then took several long gulps from his beer before setting the bottle down with the other two. "Fine. I'll stay with you, for NOW. And no funny business! I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night, or some random morning, and you're in my bed naked and randy!"

"Well you're no fun."

Finishing his own drink off, Trott finally piped up. "But he said nothing about you not showing up in his bed BEFORE he goes to bed."

Smith blinked, looked at Trott, then grinned. "That is a VERY good point, Trotty!"

"No waiting in my bed, either!"

"Too late, implication made and accepted!"

Sips stretched, grinning and starting to crack up. "Come on, go pack your shit up, Ross, so we an go!"

He gave a huff, but got up, heading to pack his stuff. Admittedly... There wasn't a lot TO pack, and they were soon on their way out the door, Ross REALLY hoping he never found Smith in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done in one go, but I was being lazy. All I could think of was "God, after those interactions, Sips is probably gonna just... Insult Ross' apartment. How shitty can I make this place SOUND?" ... He's not gonna miss that furniture, probably.


	5. Greetings from Randy

The drive to Smith's house was mostly uneventful. This time, Ross sat in the front passenger seat while Sips and then Trott were dropped off. The car was filled with silence as the darker-haired man stared out the window, watching Mistral go by. Smith was going on about something, but he wasn't paying attention. How could he? In less than a day, he'd gone from trying to prove to his superiors that he could handle taking down a crime ring, to nearly getting burried alive, to becoming part of the crime family, and now he was moving in with the loudest, crudest person he'd met so far.

He still had a lot of life meet somebody louder and cruder, right?

The house was just as Smith had said it was - A place over a garage. Or rather, it was a two-story house with a multi-car garage dominating the bottom floor. And there were a FEW cars... He got out, admiring a Chrysler Touring in what he thought was the best shade of blue he'd ever seen. As he ran his hand over the hood, he ignored the driver side door of the car behind him slam shut.

He couldn't ignore when Smith was RIGHT there beside him. "Import, this one." He pointed at the steering wheel, on the left instead of the right. "Americans... Drivin' on the wrong side and all that. We don't take her out much, too easy to recognize that I'm on the wrong side." He then gave Ross a slap on the back. "Let's get your shit outta the trunk and upstairs. Only one bed right now, so you can sleep on the couch for now."

Ross could only let out a hum as he carried a box, following Smith up the stairs. When the door opened, he wasn't sure what to expect. A mess? No... While the place looked lived in(So much green... And horses... Why the horses?), it was clean, nothing out of place, nothing just draped carelessly somewhere.

Smith set the box he'd been carrying down on the table, vanishing into what the other man assumed was his bedroom. When he returned, he had a pillow and some blankets, which he dumped on the sofa. "Here ya go. Sorry, can barely be bothered to make MY bed, let alone a sofa." He motioned to the kitchen. "Help yourself to anything in there. I'M going to bed." As he started back for his room, he spun around, pointing at Ross with both hands. "If you get lonely..."

Ross flipped him off, a frown on his face, then went about making his.... Sofa.

\------------------------

When he woke up, Ross at first wondered if he'd been dreaming. Maybe he HADN'T nearly be killed, maybe he HADN'T been coerced into joining a crime family. He rolled over, knees bumping the back of the sofa. No, not a dream... He cracked his eyes open.

And promptly let out a horrified scream, falling off the sofa. There, on his pillow, was a small lizard of some sort.

He heard the shower turn off, and a moment later Smith walked out in only a towel, dripping wet with shampoo in his hair. "What was th- RANDY!" Towel held with one hand, he walked over and scooped up the small reptile. "Sorry 'bout that, he musta got out of his tank. Randy, you naughty boy! Scaring our new flatmate like that! Come on, back ya go!"

Ross watched him walk away, breathing hard from the startled fright. After a moment, he got up and went over, leaning down to look through the glass. "You have a lizard..."

"No, I have a GECKO. His name's Randy."

"Why Randy...?"

"Be happy he was just sittin' there."

Ross made a face. Smith went back to finish his shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to include the gecko. It couldn't be avoided.
> 
> (Another straight run type fest! And now I go back and fix some typos and stuff I missed in 4)


	6. And that's where the name comes from

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry 'bout the arm, Ross

The hot water washing over his body was a welcome sensation. How Smith had a big enough tank for two showers so close together, he didn't WANT to know, because that meant looking a gift horse in the mouth. Of course, speaking of gift horses...

He looked at the soap, the shampoo, the conditioner, and quietly decided that if he was sharing living space with this man, he was procuring his OWN bath products. He gave the soap a sniff, then made a face. He'd best describe it as... COLORFUL, a scent. No particular pinpointing with whatever brand this was. The shampoo and conditioner were also best described as smelling like some sort of fruit.

He sucked it up and used them anyway, quietly cursing about the smells, while pleased that the dirt and remaining dried blood washed away... And then cursed loudly as the skin on his wrists burned.

Somehow, between the shock of Randy in his face and Smith wearing only shampoo and a bath towel, he'd forgotten about his raw wrists. He would have laughed at that, at waking up to a nearly-naked Smith and A Randy, if he wasn't gingerly rinsing his hair, trying to minimize the pain.

It didn't help that other aches were becoming far more apparent.

Ross let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as the last of the conditioner rinsed away, simply standing with the hot water pounding on his shoulders and back. It was soothing, like he was getting a massage.

Damn shame his stomach let out a monstrous growl at that moment, closely followed by a knock on the door.

"Breakfast is ready when you get out, mate!"

He glanced at the curtain in the direction of the bathroom door. "Thanks, I'll be out shortly! Was just about done..." Too soon... The shower was ending far too soon. He rubbed his face, grimacing as his wrists protested the motions, then turned the water off.

As soon as he opened the door, the smells of pancakes, bacon, and eggs hit Ross full-force in the face and he swore his stomach would have leapt out of his throat to dance for joy if it could.

Why this thought had occurred to him, he wasn't sure. Maybe he'd watched too many cartoons... Or he was just that hungry this morning.

He turned to walk, only to notice something by his hand as he brushed it along a table. His gaze focused on it...

And he swore that damn gecko was GRINNING at him, before scurrying up onto his arm.

"Smiiiiith..." His voice had cracked.

"Yeah?"

"Your... THING... Is on me..."

"My THING?" Uncrossing his leg, Smith stood up and walked over, only for his eyebrows to go up. "How in the hell... Randy! Come he-- No, no DON'T!"

He swore his hair was standing on end now... "I see why you... Named him Randy... Do you have BLEACH for my arm?"

"I would NOT suggest bleachin' your arm..." Gingerly, he plucked the gecko off Ross. "He must really like you to get out of his tank twice like that... I'm so sorry, that's not how he usually greets guests in the flat." He put the gecko back in the tank for the second time that morning, while Ross went and scrubbed his arm.

The dark-hared man suddenly let out a yelp of pain as he scrubbed over a raw spot, prompting Smith to walk over. "You okay there?" He paused and cringed when he saw Ross' wrists. "Oooh, right... Sorry 'bout that, too... Hold on, I can patch that up for you. Randy, you stay IN that tank!"

He returned shortly with bandages and ointment, patching his would-be murder victim's wrists with what Ross had to consider great care. When both wrists were wrapped up in gauze, he let out a quiet sigh. "Thank you..."

"It's nothing." He set the gauze on the counter, then directed Ross to the table. "Come on, before it gets cold! And before Randy gets out again and winds up in your hair or something."

Ross cringed at the thought, taking a seat and digging in.

At least part of breakfast was spent warding Smith off his plate.


End file.
